Pathways out of Darkness
by SodaDrow
Summary: A noble spy, responsible for the death of House Do'Urden, rescues an unlikely survivor: Vierna Do'Urden. What will happen to the them as they are cast out of the city of the drow and hunted mercilessly by their former allies? Will they escape to the surface or be slain in the wilds of the underdark? Rated M for violence, gore, sex, swearing, and alcohol/drug use. ViernaXOMC
1. The Mercenary Prince

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Drizzt Series. All Original Characters however are mine.**

_He burst through the trees, a frantic, half-mad figure caked in dirt and blood with the cowl of his hood obscuring his panicked face. He sprinted forward blindly, throwing terrified glances over his shoulder and gripping a blood-slick knife in one gloved hand. His breathing was shallow and erratic refusing to keep rhythm while he ran deeper into the forest, desperately trying to lose his pursuers._

_The figure saw a clearing to his right and diverted his path toward it, leaping over logs and barreling through undergrowth. He was so intent on his goal that he didn't notice the steep drop in front of him into he was almost on top of it. He quickly threw out his hands to keep his balance and braced his feet at the incline's edge but his speed and momentum betrayed him._

_Dropping his knife, he tumbled down the rocky slope; the sharp rocks dug into his skin and tore great holes in his exotic cloak. He was slammed to the forest floor and he let out pain-ridden shriek as his leg exploded in pain. He roughly threw himself into sitting position and almost swooned when he saw his own knife embedded in his leg, right above his knee._

_He quickly rallied against the pain and grabbed hold of his knife then slowly dragged it from his leg, his cloak clenched in his mouth to stifle his screams and whimpers. He had almost pulled it out when he heard the unmistakable sounds of pursuit from the top of the ridge; acting on instinct he rolled to the side, his leg screaming in agony, just as an arrow stabbed into the dirt where he was just sitting. His eyes darted up and he could clearly see his pursuer, a tall wood elf wearing all green, perched on top of the rocky ridge and already readying another arrow. The elf fired his bow and his now-crippled opponent barely managed to avoid being skewered._

…_..._

_The elf hesitated, morbidly amused by his prey's struggles, then notched another arrow and took aim. The prey however tore the dagger out of his leg and sent it flying straight for the elf's heart. The elf, shocked by this unexpected move, threw himself behind a large and gnarled pine tree to avoid the blade. The elf waited a few more moments then slowly raised his bow and stepped out from cover, eyes searching._

_His prey was gone, leaving behind a trail of blood and broken brush as it limped into the forest. The elf gracefully leapt down from the ridge, landing on his feet and immediately sprinted after his prey, easily following the blood trail of his quarry._

…...

_The prey, now unarmed and crippled, devoted all of his fading strength into fleeing deeper into the forest. His leg was burning in agony, but he clenched his teeth and forced himself to keep moving. He dared to look behind, expecting to see his tormentor about to fire the killing arrow; instead the trail was empty except for a rather scared pair of rodents running across it. He redoubled his efforts hoping that he had, against all odds, escaped his pursuers._

_Then he felt his feet stop, his eyes shot down and widened with surprise when he saw that his legs were bound with wire attached to three small spheres. Unable to keep his balance, he screamed in shock as he was catapulted into the dirt, whimper catching in his throat as he struggled to pull himself up._

…...

_As hunter drew closer to his fallen prey, watching it flail in the dirt, the smile left his face. The hunt was over, now it was time for the kill. He drew his sword from the sheath and adjusted his hand on the grip, ready to plunge the blade in to his prey's back._

"_It is dishonorable to stab one's prey in the back, Elyon." A melodic voice taunted._

_The hunter's head peered over his shoulder; chuckling lightly when a second hunter leapt down from a tree branch, landing lightly on his feet and striding over to his partner. _

"_I don't think this one counts as worthy prey, Wyn." Elyon stated flatly, "Its death is more of a chore than any kind of hunt." _

"_Chore or not, it took a while for you to catch him." Wyn laughed slapping his friend on the back. "If it wasn't for my bolas, he might have gotten away!"_

"_I thought I told you stop interfering with my hunts."_

"_I thought you said it was a chore?" _

_Elyon's dark green eyes flashed with annoyance at his friend's teasing before giving the struggling prey a baleful glare and tightened his grip on his sword._

_Wyn strode forward and squatted down next to the franticly struggling form. Placing his hands under the prey's shoulder and hip he carefully flipped it onto its back in order to get a better look at it. He quietly took in the fallen prey's torn cloak, wild hair, and a wicked looking wound in its leg. _

"_What happened to its leg?" He asked, blowing a loose strand of blonde hair away from his eyes._

_Elyon sharp-featured face twisted in confusion as he examined the prey's injured leg, the prey finding his predators in such close proximity redoubled his thrashing and curled his face into defiant sneer, daring his captors attack. _

_Wyn, noticing the sneer, smirked and gestured to his friend. "Look it still thinks its superior!" he laughed_

_Elyon gave it a somewhat frightening grin. "Maybe at falling, he is!"_

_The prey's sneer hardened, but his wary glaze gave away its confusion; it obviously did not speak elvish. Finally, exhausted and in pain, the prey flopped onto its back gasping for breath, but not daring to look away from the hunters._

_Like most elves Elyon hated suffering and always tried to kill his prey as painlessly as possible. It was, after all, rather unsporting for a hunter to torment his prey. He nervously licked his lips, eyes searching for a home for his sword point._

_ Wyn, noticing his friend's hesitation, pointed to the prey's chest and mouthed the words "In the heart." Elyon nodded, pinning its arm to the ground with his boot and raising his sword two-handed, blade pointed down ready to plunge into the now-struggling prey's heart. _

_Wyn was holding down the prey's other arm with one hand and its head in place with the other, trying to give his partner a better chance to kill instantly and without pain._

_Elyon looked down and stared into its face, the sneer was gone replaced by a look of hopelessness and regret._

_*What could he be regretting? He…THEY have no morals, no conscience. he would slit our throats in a second if he had the chance!*_

_The prey closed its eyes. _

_"Vedaust ussta euol'gui, F'sarn taudl Usstan inbal ulu sevir dos." It whispered quietly to itself._

_Then the blade fell._

* * *

_10 years after Drizzt escapes Menzoberranzan, four months before the destruction of House Do'urden_

* * *

Ran'drin Barrindar, Secondboy of House Barrindar, tossed and turned, trying to make himself comfortable in his overstuffed bed. He twisted his body to each side, then spread his arms over his head and bent one knee and managed to give himself a neck cramp before trying a new position. After a dozen positions he gave up, threw his blankets away and slowly sat up.

*Now that I'm up, I might as well get some work done* he thought.

Ran'drin pushed himself off the bed and made his way to his desk. He planted himself on the leather chair, and then scooped up the small stone that lay on his desk. At his command the stone slowly lit up with a gentle blue light. Like most drow Ran'drin's eyes glowed scarlet when he used heat vision, but now that his desk was now blanketed with soft light, his eyes now showed their true hue: a bright, icy blue.

Opening one the cabinets he withdrew a small, black-leather book with a sliver lock and entered the combination. The lock sprang open and Ran'drin flipped to a dog-eared page near the end. In small, messy writing were the words: "Stuff to do this week."

*Pickup contraband, Finish Invisibility potion, deliver strength elixirs to arena, pay off mother….* He continued to list in his mind, trying to find one that wouldn't be much of a hassle. *Destroy shipping records, raise ten thousand gold pieces for gambling debts…* He was about to throw the book back and try to get some sleep when he discovered, in large flamboyant letters, someone had wrote "Meet with Jarlaxle."

Ran'drin bit his lip in thought, trying to recall if a guest had been in the house recently. Matron Nhil'breena often had guests and parties to help spread her reputation for wealth and fashion among the cities' nobles. The parties were always formal affairs where manners and class were everything. Unfortunately for his mother, Ran'drin's sarcastic tongue and independent streak caused so many problems that she finally forbid him from attending anymore of her parties, lest he cause a war.

After about a minute he concluded that someone COULD have been invited by his mother during the last party and slipped away to write this little note, and judging by the fancy handwriting that someone was probably Jarlaxle himself.

Deciding that it would be okay if he had breakfast before meeting the swaggering mercenary, Ran'drin pushed his chair back and trudged to the closet on the far side of the room. Rubbing the grogginess out of his blue eyes with one hand, he opened the closet with his other hand.

The sight that greeted his tired eyes was not a pleasant or a welcome one: A practically hairy spider had decided that it would be fun to make its web directly in the space between his most expensive shirt and his favorite pants while a dried rat husk was oozing grayish juices onto his socks. A few quiet seconds went by as the Ran'drin considered drowning his closet in a river while the spider considered whether or not having a giant pile of clothes on the floor would hurt the resale value of the closet.

Sighing in annoyance Ran'drin bent down and grabbed the first set of clothes he saw, then smoothly shut the door and made his way to the room's only exit. Bundle of clothes tucked under his arm he scooped up his boots, collected his war vest from its peg near the door and, with some difficulty, nudged the door open and strode down the hall.

Now most drow would not have left their room barefoot and wearing only a pair of baggy undergarments, but Ran'drin had long ago decided that the Barrindar compound was safe as long as he paid his dues to the Matron. He was simply too valuable to the house's coffers to be "accidentally" killed off by a rampaging labor troll.

House Barrindar was, unlike most houses, carved out of a cliff face so its slave quarters, storage rooms, and stables for riding bats and lizards were all found on the first story of the house and connected to each other by a twisting network of hallways and stairs. The second story housed the house's barracks, the chapel, and the feast hall and its kitchens (which he infinitely preferred over the other two). The third story was noble territory and Ran'drin's twin older sisters did everything in their power to keep it that way; they beat any commoner who trespassed and on one occasion almost threw Ran'drin out. Luckily Matron Nhil'breena was passing by at the time and put a stop to their so-called "petty fight" before anyone sustained any serious injuries.

Ran'drin turned left down yet another stone corridor and made his way toward the noble kitchens. The kitchens were always warm, toasty and overflowing with new and exotic delicacies like surface fruits, rare rainbow crabs, and the occasional barrel of sweet dwarven cheese. The main cook, an old and loudmouthed gray dwarf named Oni Bigflask, treated Ran'drin like a favorite nephew, saying that the young drow reminded him of himself when he was young. He was also a master of the culinary arts. He worked with food and drink like a sculptor works with stone. He had been working here long before Ran'drin had been born and even earned enough money to buy his freedom a couple of years ago but stayed anyway because he enjoyed the challenge of cooking for the Barrindar family.

"Dwarves are not picky; we eat anything, even stones." He had explained to the Matron "But drow o' other hand, drow eat only the finest foods, and nobles even finer still. Feedin' yer family and feedin' them _well_, that to me sounds like a good way enough to spend me retirement."

Ran'drin stopped walking and sat down on a small pedestal and started putting his clothes on, since it would be rude to walk in on someone while wearing nothing but your underwear. Most of Ran'drin's clothes were gifts from suitors or looted from drunken nobles so most of them wear too small for him (Ran'drin was tall for a drow and most of his suitors bought him tight clothes on purpose.) So it was only with great effort and a steady stream of cursing did he finally manage to get his pants on and buckled. When he stood up he found that he could not lean too far forward or backward. "Perfect. I look like a stripper," he snapped hoping that the buyer of the pants fell into a ravine. Thankfully his shirt was much looser and was made to fit him.

Ran'drin finished dressing and scooped up his war vest and examined it for any lose straps or holes before strapping it on. The vest was a marvel of drow workmanship; it consisted of dozens of overlapping buckles and straps made from the basilisk leather and mithril and sported about a dozen daggers in varying lengths, blades, and positions. The straps were mobile and slide over one another smoothly to maintain flexibility and lightness while keeping its strength. The vest was a gift from his mother, who had bought it for him when he had staggered home one night with a crossbow bolt in his shoulder, not wanting her prized Secondboy to die in a street fight, she had the vest tailor-made for him and even had the house wizard cast a few enchantments on it.

A short walk down the generously carpeted corridor brought him to the kitchen door. He loudly knocked on the door, knowing that the old dwarf was either preparing tomorrows breakfast or asleep.

"Who be knockin'?" came rough, heavily-accented voice, only slightly muffed by the stone door. "Ran'drin is that you, boy?"

"No it's the matron's pet spider; I would like to spin a web in your beard because your head's full of flies!"

The remark was met by an uproar of laughter as the door swung open, revealing a balding dwarf with a light grey beard which covered the food spattered apron that hid the rest of his rather plump body.

"That tongue be the death of ye, boy!" The old dwarf chuckled, "What do ye want, Ran'drin?"

"Well I was unable to sleep so I thought that I go down and get some snacks to calm my nerves."

The dwarf wagged a stubby finger at the young drow. "This is a kitchen, not a buffet. I can't be havin' every drow in the house comin' in and eatin' all the food!"

Ran'drin carefully stepped past the old dwarf and made his way to the pantry. "Relax, old friend, you won't even notice that I'm here!" He called back over his shoulder with a disarming smile.

The dwarf opened his mouth to argue before the sudden hissing that erupted from the tea kettle made him rush back to the food as fast as his short legs could carry him.

Ran'drin barely noticed the dwarf's grumbling; instead he focused on ransacking the pantry. The secondboy scooped up a jar of raw spices, several bags of smoked meats, and a loaf of bread imported from the terrible surface world. He quickly dumped his takings onto the only table that wasn't covered in food stains, before plopping himself down on the nearest chair.

"Why are you still working, Oni?" Ran'drin asked loudly, dipping a sausage into the spice jar "Usually you're off drinking at the Breaded Gnome by now."

"The BEARDED gnome, ya twit" Oni chastised " your mother be hostin' another blasted party tomorrow, said that some Beaners be attendin' so now I have to be makin' sure all the food be perfect for tomorrow!"

"Baenre."

"What?"

Ran'drin looked up from his meal, giving the dwarf an amused look "Their name is pronounced 'Baenre', not beaner."

"Blast and be bother it, all yer clan names be soundin' the same!" He exclaimed pointing a spoon accusingly at Ran'drin "And stop eatin' all the spices! I be needin' those for the soup!"

Ran'drin kicked his feet up onto the table, tipping the chair back on its back legs, and chewed contently on the sausage. Oni took his silence to be a sign that he should continue and started lecturing the young drow on all the things that (according to Oni) dwarves did better than the drow while vigorously stirring the pot of soup.

This scene went on for a good five minutes before Ran'drin finished his meal, stood and announced that he had business to attend to. His foot was halfway out the door when Oni called him back.

"Wait, come back!" He yelled "Come taste the soup I ben makin'!"

Ran'drin, always ready to sample new cuisine, sauntered back to the stove and carefully opened one of the pots and tasted a spoonful of the heavy, brown broth.

What touched his tongue was nowhere near what he was expecting, instead of the promised delicacy the broth tasted of filth and garbage mixed in with sweat and grease. He immediately spat it out, spraying the wall with the brown slop.

"Oni, that was disgusting!" He cried, nearly choking "What in the nine hells did you put in that soup?!"

"I be also boilin' the crud off the ol' pots." The old dwarf stated casually.

Ran'drin stared at the dwarf in disbelief before his stare hardened into a glare that would send even a demon into a panic attack.

"Try the other pot." Oni suggested with a shrug.


	2. Draw the Lines

**Once again I do not own any of R.A. Salvatore's characters. Ran'Drin however is mine.**

**Author**** Note: I re-did this chapter again because I was not satisfied with the first result and my brand-new editor fixed up alot of grammatical errors. Enjoy! **

"Ah! Ran'drin! How good of you to visit my humble home!" Jarlaxle almost shouted "Come in! Come in!"

Ran'drin nonchalantly leaned on the doorway into Jarlaxle's tastefully decorated office, taking in the plush chair and carpeted floors with an air of indifference. Jarlaxle seemed to be in the middle of redecorating, judging by the amount of male drow running from one end of the room to the other clutching measuring equipment. Jarlaxle stood in the middle of the room yelling orders at the workers and shouting suggestions at the planners and generally getting into everybody's way. The scene reminded Ran'drin of the bazaar, with drow running everywhere, trying to get their shopping done before all the good stalls closed. The whole scene was really quite impressive.

Ran'drin would rather die than admit that however.

"No no no no. The painting goes to _that_ wall! Why would I want it on that wall?! You can barely see it from here!" Jarlaxle hollered, waving his arms as if he was conducting an orchestra. "Move it to the left! No, your _other_ left, moron! Don't you know you're left from my left?!"

Jarlaxle was one of those people that can't sit still and watch someone work, he always has to stand up and give orders or offer some advice which is totally irreverent to the current situation. Ran'drin on the other hand was content with just watching and observing. When he was a child, his wean-mother constantly told him to clean the house chapel and then she would disappear into the bazaar. Ran'drin would simply just walk down the corridor and "enlist" the help of some nearby slaves to clean it while he went off to explore, read a book, or just take a nap on one of the pews. This little trick usually worked except when she comes back from the bazaar early and finds a little boy sitting on the alter, doodling on a book while a bunch of kobolds scrub down the holy relics.

"Jarlaxle, you wanted to see me?" Ran'drin called out.

"Ah yes, as matter of fact I did! Just let me finish up here and we can get to business!" Jarlaxle promised before turning back to the workers and shouting "Everyone out! Because of your clumsiness I have to plan this room out again! Out!"

Ran'drin quickly stepped deeper into Jarlaxle's office, avoiding the hasty retreat of half-dozen planners as they crowded out of the office, and started examining the mercenary's newest safe house. Jarlaxle never stayed in one place for long, always relocating to a new safe house every few weeks. This time he had taken a liking to some ruins that might have once been a thriving noble house and decided to renovate the premises.

"Anything to drink, my _abbil*_?"

Ran'drin snapped his appraising look at Jarlaxle, now comfortably seated on a plush chair, as the older drow pulled a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a basket of pastries out of his hat.

"You know I don't drink on the job, Jarlaxle" He laughed, taking a seat on the other side of the desk and leaning back until the chair stood up on its hind legs. "Hells, didn't you teach me that?"

Ran'drin kicked his feet up on the stone table, almost knocking a rather ugly sculpture of Lolth off the desk, giving the mercenary a positively snide smile.

Jarlaxle smiled back, pouring wine into one of glasses before leaning back and gulping down several mouthfuls of wine straight from the bottle. "Are you sure? This is high quality stuff. From the surface, I hear, place called Sliverymoon I think." He twisted the bottle to the side and quickly read the label with a thoughtful look in his eye. His eye patch was on the right eye today.

"Yes indeed it is, Sliverymoon, right here in big gold letters, see?" he declared, holding the bottle out to Ran'drin "It's good! Have a drink! Just a quick drink!"

Ran'drin leaned forward, feet still on the desk, and accepted the bottle from Jarlaxle. Giving the bottle's label a curious glance before sipping some of the wine.

Jarlaxle looked at him expectantly, waiting to hear his verdict. Ran'drin tried another sip, eyes narrowed in thought, and then another and another.

"So how is it?" Jarlaxle asked "it's good, yes?"

"It's good for a surface wine." Ran'drin agreed, eager to change the subject "but I'd like to know why you sent for me."

Jarlaxle's eyebrow shot up "Yes, about that. I have delicate task available for you. I can pay five thousand gold pieces now and another ten thousand when you're done, Interested?"

Ran'drin made a show of picking lint off his cloak before answering "So little? What do you want me to do? Stab another priestess to death in an alley?"

"Right. Like I would pay fifteen thousand for something I can do myself." Jarlaxle spat back "Now shut up and hear me out."

Ran'drin nodded, indicating that he was listening.

"I want you to infiltrate a house, map out their compound, and then smuggle some of my agents in."

Ran'drin shrugged "Sounds easy enough. What's the house?" He asked, taking another sip from the bottle.

"Do'Urden."

Ran'drin nearly chocked on his drink.

"Do'Urden?!" He managed to choke out, eyeing the mercenary with outright shock. "But they have the favor of Lolth!"

"No they don't." Jarlaxle corrected slyly.

"I don't know if you noticed but Ol' Malice managed to create a _SPIRIT WRAITH_!" Ran'drin shot back. "I would assume that Lolth doesn't just hand out souls to someone who doesn't have her favor."

Jarlaxle stood up so suddenly that his chair flew backwards. "That's the beauty of it!" He yelled happily; swinging his arms out wide and knocking over the ugly statue. "Lolth gave Malice _zin-carla_ BECAUSE she doesn't have her favor!"

Ran'drin could feel a headache coming on, oh he despised the clerics and their hypocritical laws!

Jarlaxle, having retrieved the fugitive chair, helped himself to a pastry and a glass of wine. Jarlaxle liked working with Ran'drin. The younger drow was reliable and imaginative, always finding creative ways to accomplish his tasks. He could take a joke (which was an extremely rare quality among nobles), he is always discrete about his missions, and he didn't give a damn about house politics (well, at least most of the time.) All in all he was, the perfect agent.

"So, do you accept the job?" Jarlaxle hopefully asked.

Ran'drin barely heard him, he was thinking. He was trying to recall any meetings, any rumor, any scrap of information he may know about the Do'Urden family. He knew, everybody knew, that their secondboy had been the star of the academy, but then ran off to be a heretic. He knew two of them had been instructors at the academy. He knew that their Matron was one of the most beautiful females in the city and had a reputation for taking many lovers in a short period of time. He had heard a rumor that their new patron liked young boys, but he was pretty sure that was just idle gossip.

"Hey! Ran'drin! Answer the question!" Jarlaxle clapped his hands loudly for emphasis.

Ran'drin looked back up at Jarlaxle and quickly apologized "Sorry, I was thinking. What was the question?"

"Will you take the job?"

Ran'drin ran his hand though his hair, a habit that he did whenever he was deep in thought, and started drinking from the bottle again.

Jarlaxle, seeing that Ran'drin was hesitating, decided to sweeten the deal. "I'll let you have one of my safe houses."

For the second time in fifteen minutes Ran'drin chocked on his drink.

Jarlaxle's safe houses were almost impenetrable to outside attack and were always full of magic enchantments and, according to the rumors, were more comfortable than a Matron's bedchamber. To a high-risk lifestyle, there was nothing better.

Ran'drin jumped off his chair "I'll take the job!"

Jarlaxle laughed out loud again, he had never seen the young drow so exited before!

"Good! My associate will give you the details for the job and the five thousand gold pieces before you leave." Jarlaxle declared "Good luck, my _abbil_."

Ran'drin bowed low and left the room with a spring in his step, eager to begin his task.

"Do you think he will succeed?" Jarlaxle asked out loud.

From the shadows, invisible to even the dark vision of the drow, came another voice. "Even if he doesn't, Matron Malice will not be able to accuse Bregan D'aerthe."

Jarlaxle chuckled to himself again. Ran'drin was a free agent, taking employment from anyone who pays, not even his Matron could fully control him. If he was to die, then his death at the hands of Malice would start war between the two houses. Do'Urden was strong and protected by Baenre but House Barrindar controlled almost every mercantile operation in the city and angering them is the easiest way to commit economic suicide. Yes Malice would have a few extra worry lines on her pretty face very soon.

Unless, of course, he doesn't get caught.

_Meanwhile, In the Do'Urden compound._

* * *

Vierna was nervous, very nervous, very _very_ nervous. In fact you could say she was panicking.

She was standing in front of audience chamber door, trying to work up the courage to enter and tell her matron the bad news. Malice _hated_ bad news. Bad news was usually met with beatings and whippings and other very painful "rewards". It didn't help that Malice was so skilled in those punishments, either.

Vierna closed her eyes and took another deep breath, trying to slow her racing heart. She had to be calm, she had to be strong. She was a priestess of Lolth, dammit! She should not be cowering in front of the door like a whipped male!

Finally after what seemed like hours, her heart started slowing down into an easy rhythm. She gave the hallway behind her a look thinking that retreat might be a better option after all. She shot that idea down immediately, she wasn't a coward. She turned back toward the door and knocked on the cold stone.

"Enter!"

Vierna, determined to seem relaxed, set her shoulders and lifted her chin slightly higher before pushing open the door and confidently strode through.

The first thing Vierna noticed was that Malice seemed to be in a good mood and that put Vierna more at ease.

"Vierna, you are just in time to hear Dinin's report." Malice stated.

Vierna took her normal place beside Maya, giving her younger sister a nod of greeting before turning her attention to Dinin.

"Well, how did the meeting go?" Malice asked, she did not seem to really care, instead she was busy petting a spider that had climbed up to her armrest.

"The meeting went well, Ha'lrea has agreed to sell us the slaves we need to start fortifying the compound and with the soldiers that House Baenre lent us, I can conclude that our defenses are strong enough to resist attack." Dinin, always the fast talker, then proceeded to list all the details of the meeting, his suggestions for the constructions, and his opinions on the Baenre soldiers at an extremely high pace.

Briza, who was standing near the throne, was paying almost extreme attention to Dinin's speech. It was obvious that she did not want to miss a single word of something that could benefit her house. Malice however, looked like she was about to fall asleep and in fact, halfway through she actually started to examine herself in a little hand mirror that she kept nearby, preening herself vainly. Vierna was confused with Malice's indifference. She was usually demanding answers and trying to learn everything about a topic, absorbing information and taking a huge interest in House affairs, but recently all she had expressed interest in was directing the spirit wraith to kill Drizzt. In fact recently Briza had started managing the House on a day to day basis!

Vierna's mind started wandering, trying to entertain herself until it was time for her to give her report. She ended up wondering what Drizzt was doing right now.

"Probably sitting in cave somewhere and singing to himself to pass the time." she thought, smiling to herself.

He had always liked singing, even going so far as humming to himself whenever one of Dinin's speeches went on for too long or when Malice started yelling at Rizzen during meetings. She also remembered that whenever he had to sing in the family chapel, his voice was flat and uninspiring not even close to his usual sweetness. She had scolded him after one ritual but he just looked at her with his customary stone-faced expression and said that he did not know how to sing and he did not wish to learn such a "useless skill" as he put it.

Two days later she heard him singing with passion while he cleaned his scimitars.

"Little liar." she whispered to herself, her smile widening.

"What was that Vierna?" A voice loudly broke in to her thoughts.

Vierna jumped from surprise, her eyes quickly darted around the room trying to figure out who asked the question. She got her answer quickly, when she caught sight of Matron Malice. Malice's face was twisted into a grimace, her worry lines easily visible along her once smooth skin.

"Tell me Vierna." Malice snarled, visibly holding herself in check. "Does the House's misfortune amuse you?"

Vierna quickly bowed low in apology "No it does not, Most Honored Matron, I beg forgiveness for my wrongdoing." She quickly apologized, hoping that the Matron was feeling merciful right now. She could see Briza's snake whip start to wither at her belt.

Malice's threatening gaze was still leveled at her, her predatory eyes taking in every nervous twitch, every fidget. Vierna could feel panic creeping in again as she watched Briza start to clench and unclench her fists eagerly.

Finally, Malice waved her hand dismissively "You are forgiven." Briza's manic smile dropped into a disappointed frown.

Vierna let out the breath that she was holding. She would have to practice keeping her thoughts silent form now on. She noticed that her hands were sweating and that her heart had once again started pounding in her chest like a young spider trying to escape its egg.

Dinin, who had been standing quietly waiting, was about to resume his verbal flood of suggestions, ideas, and precautions but was cut off by Malice.

"That's enough Dinin, I think we all agree that you completed your report with your usual thoroughness." She stated, giving him a rare smile.

Vierna felt a flash of jealousy, Dinin had always been Malice's favorite child even including her daughters. Dinin embodied Malice's vision of a perfect drow: he was skilled in battle, devious to a fault, and fought tirelessly to increase the houses station (Sometimes even putting his own schemes on hold). No doubt Briza would have also have been a favorite had she not been so close to over throwing her on several occasions.

Dinin, noticing his mother's smile, lifted his head a little higher and strode back his place while giving Vierna a look that asked "What was that about?"

"Vierna, I believe you have a report to give as well?" Malice asked, hardly bothering to look at her daughter.

Vierna gulped and quickly brought her trembling under control. "Yes, Honored Matron, I do."

"Well, hurry up and give it. I don't have all day you know." She said using her best "I'm better than you in every way" voice.

"I have done as you requested and spoken with the Jarlaxle about hiring soldiers to bolster our defenses." Before she could continue Malice cut her off.

"Excellent, with these extra soldiers we can finally secure our southern flank and start extending our patrols!" She cackled, leaping from her throne "Let's see Fey-Branche try to raid us now!"

"A-actually Matron, Jarlaxle refused the contract." Vierna quietly corrected.

The effect of that simple sentence had on the Matron's face would have been quite amusing if it hadn't been absolutely terrifying for the young high priestess.

"What did you say?" Malice asked quietly, visibly shaking with fury.

Vierna quickly covered her head with her arms.

This was going to hurt…a lot.

**Thanks for reading and please leave a review and a cookie!**

***:Means "Friend" or "Trusted Comrade" in drow.**


	3. Preparations

**Once again I do not own any of Mr. Salvatore's characters. **

**Author's**** note: This chapter received some serious editing. Many different grammar mistakes have been fixed and I even gave Vierna another page of action. (Though I don't think she appreciates it very much.)**

Ran'drin happily strode though the noble quarter and made his way toward his room, fresh from meeting with Jarlaxle's agent and carrying a rucksack filled with finely cut rubies. Jarlaxle preferred to pay in gems rather than gold pieces, a habit that Ran'drin was thankful for. It would be exhausting if he had to drag around five thousand gold coins with him every time he completed a mission.

Coming up to his room he quickly traced several arcane sigils onto his door. His practiced hand flowed back and forth, creating the required patterns with ease of long practice. To ensure privacy his door was enchanted with a _holding_ spell to make it almost impossible to open using any mundane techniques. Only Ran'drin and the Matron knew the sigils needed to open his door, even though any moderately powerful wizard could dispel it. After a few seconds the door began to glow a steady green color and then with small "click" the lock snapped open. Ran'drin pushed the door open and walked into his room. It wasn't the cleanest of rooms or the biggest. In fact about a third of it was dominated by his overstuffed bed and the other two thirds were occupied by his desk, his dresser, and an alchemy table that was filled with a bunch of smoking test tubes and vials.

Whenever Ran'drin had "guests" staying in his room usually the first thing they noticed is the ceiling. Instead of boring stone or carvings of Lolth that adorned most ceilings, his ceiling was pitch black steel with small crystals placed indiscriminately about. The crystals gave off a weak glow, so gentle that even Ran'drin's dark vision was not disrupted by their twinkling. The entire effect of the ceiling gave the illusion of what surface folk call "Stars" and most drow who had visited the surface were unnerved by it. Ran'drin found it oddly comforting.

Ran'drin had never left Menzoberranzan in his life. His entire world was the city and all its thrills. The gambling houses, the race track, the arena; in those places he had won and lost fortunes, betting most of his hard earned gold on the roll of the dice or on the skill of a gladiator. One time he even signed up for a free-for-all and bet on an opposing fighter.

He won a lot of gold that day.

"Ah! I see that my cherished brother has returned!" A deep voice boomed from the doorway. "Fuck! Where have you been brother? The racetrack? How much did you lose this time?"

Ran'drin spun around, hand on one of his daggers, and gave his brother a hard glare.

"I'm busy right now, Tonash." Ran'drin barked, his good mood evaporating. "I do not have time for your taunting."

Tonash stepped deeper into Ran'drin's room and eyed the rucksack strapped to his younger brother's shoulder with more than a passing suspicion.

Ran'drin, following his brother's gaze, shifted his body slightly, obscuring the precious pack from Tonash. The last thing he needed was for Tonash to start sending more spies after him.

Tonash causally placed his hand on the hilt of his broadsword. Like his younger brother Tonash was taller than most drow males, but while Ran'drin's body was lanky and lean, Tonash had a build that was closer to a human's. His arms were as thick as some fungal stalks and his huge shoulders rivaled an orc's. His snow white hair was cropped short and starting to turn yellowish from his frequent use of hookahs. Even inside the relative safety of house Barrindar he refused to take off his prized plate armor. The plate was custom built and enchanted with lightness and strength, and was decorated with glyphs and etchings praising the Spider Queen and her conquests. He was also deeply suspicious of all wizards, spending thousands of gold pieces to make sure his armor was spell-proof, even going so far as attacking wizards in the street to test it.

"What's in the bag, brother?" Tonash asked

"Potion ingredients." The lie slipped out so easily, Ran'drin didn't even have to think about it.

Tonash's grimace didn't drop. "So you decided that the best time to buy ingredients is when the city is sleeping and only the rogues and heretics are out and about?"

"That's right." Ran'drin replied, turning his back on Tonash he walked over to his alchemy table and dropped the sack on top of it, making a few of the vials rattle in their holders.

Tonash's grip on his enchanted broadsword tightened. How liberating would it be to murder Ran'drin while he had his back turned, to destroy this arrogant vermin of a drow. The deed would eliminate a dangerous and unpredictable rival while also gaining favor with his sisters. But no, the Matron favored Ran'drin greatly, letting the spoiled brat skip family meetings and responsibilities. One time he struck one of his sisters, breaking her nose, and she let him off with just a whipping!

"Was there something you needed, Tonash? Or did the hookah smoke finally kill off what's left of your mind?" Ran'drin chuckled.

"Watch your tongue, Brother!" Tonash snarled "Before I tear it from your fucking skull and use it to clean my boots!"

Ran'drin's shoulders stiffened. "You have just made a grave mistake." He stated.

Tonash spaced his feet out into a battle stance and drew his broadsword, ready to strike. Ran'drin turned back around to face his irate brother, one hand holding a barbed dagger while the other held a daylight bead ready to throw. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife and served with wine, as both males stood ready fight and kill each other over a few insults.

"Leave. Now." Ran'drin ordered, making sure to sound calm "Or I tell the Matron that you are spending house funds in brothels and incense dens."

Tonash gave Ran'drin a glare that promised gruesome and bloody death and for an instant he considered charging in and butchering his little brother anyway, but Ran'drin's cool words and wicked dagger held him back. He had once felt the bite of that cruel weapon and had to spend a week in the infirmary before he could walk again.

With a sneer on his face and curses flying from his mouth like an avalanche of profanity, Tonash left the room.

Ran'drin carefully followed Tonash to the doorway, ready to strike out with blade or light, and then slammed the door shut. He sheathed his weapons and started to count backwards from ten to cool his nerves. Anger and excitement killed more agents then swords after all.

Feeling considerably more at ease, Ran'drin brought his attention back to the task at hand. He glanced back at the bag of rubies and felt a flash of energy in his body. He ran to his one-way window and examined the great burning pillar of Narbondel, and from the way the faerie fire was half-way up the pillar he could tell that the city would be awake in a couple of hours.

Ran'drin rubbed his hands together "Well. Let's get to work!"

For a whole hour Ran'drin ran around his room trying to locate the items needed for infiltration. Hair dye, gel, colored eye lenses, fake scars, a few potions and scrolls, a pad and charcoal pencil hidden in a sole of a boot, slender knives with collapsible blades, a small pouch of gold for emergencies, and a pile of clothes that he found underneath his bed. Ran'drin gazed upon his arsenal of espionage with a gleeful eye.

This was his favorite part.

An hour later Ran'drin examined his handy work in a basin of water, making sure that all the details were in place and that nothing was loose. The transformation was remarkable, before Ran'drin looked like a well-dressed rogue with light blue eyes and a bad case of bed head. A little hair dye made his snow-white hair change to silver, a rather popular fashion statement among magic users. A few handfuls of hair gel turned his chaotic riot of a haircut into a smooth straight style, one bang still covering his eye which was now an angry red color thanks to some enchanted glass lenses.

Ran'drin hesitated about covering his tattoos. Tattooed on the back of his right hand in bright white ink was the image of a pair of dice, both six-side up; and dominating his entire back was a tattoo of a spider with a stylized eye on its abdomen. His back tattoo was made using a special ink that was darker than even his ebony skin and was invisible to the eye except under the brightest light.

A few minutes later Ran'drin decided that stealth beats style and covered the back of his hand with a sticky black powder that completely covered the pair of dice.

Satisfied with the changes, Ran'drin began rummaging through the pile of random clothing looking for an outfit that would complete the disguise. A ruffled shirt with silk pants? No, to causal. Maybe a fashionable cloak with a matching set of trousers? No, to obvious. He needed something baggy so he could smuggle more equipment in; it also need to be completely unoriginal so he wouldn't stand out in the crowd.

"Aha! Perfect!" He declared loudly to himself as he liberated a robe from the pile. It was an arachnomancer's robe, made out of dark colored spider silk and embodied with sliver patterns that made it look like the entire robe was covered in webbing. Ran'drin rather liked the pattern and spent some time just rubbing the soft fabric between his fingers, before draping the robe over the back of his chair for safe keeping.

Ran'drin glanced out the window again to see how much time he had left. His excitement grew when he saw that he had only half an hour until the priestess began their morning rites and woke up the entire city with their loud chanting.

Ran'drin hastily started undressing himself, carefully returning his war-vest to its peg and then attempting to take his pants off. Of course the pants seemed to enjoy their current position and refused to move no matter how hard Ran'drin pulled and tugged at the too-tight leather. Finally Ran'drin decided to use overwhelming force. Reaching underneath his pillow he withdrew a small, curved knife and began gleefully cutting apart his pants.

"Ah, there we go!" Ran'drin thought happily. "Now, if only I could do the same thing to the buyer."

Again in his baggy undergarments Ran'drin quickly put on a much looser pair of pants and donned the robe. The robe felt great on his skin, giving him a comforting feeling, as if he was warped in a soft blanket. After a few minutes of admiring his reflection in the water bowl, Ran'drin efficiently started hiding his infiltration tools on his body. Besides the usual invisibility potions and hidden knives, Ran'drin also brought along several scrolls and wands just in case he had to fight without blowing his cover as a wizard.

Ran'drin just finished hiding a wand in his boot when he heard chanting from the house chapel. Even now priestess all over the city were about to begin their morning rites and the mistress of Arach-Tinilith was probably about to sacrifice some unfortunate slave to Lolth right now.

Ran'drin quickly grabbed the gem-filled rucksack and carefully hid it under a pile of dirty laundry, and then hastily left the room. After making sure the door was locked, he strode down the hallway making an effort to act like an arrogant wizard.

* * *

Vierna hissed in pain as Dinin carried her into the Do'Urden bathing chamber. The baths were empty today, which Vierna considered a mercy. She did not want anyone else to see her in such a state of weakness.

The Do'Urden bathing chamber had two baths installed, one huge pool that was cut into the marble floor and usually filled with cool, spring water. The other pool was also carved into of the floor but was much smaller, designed to hold only one or two people. The walls were all engraved with web patterns and images of House Do'Urden's military victories, while sculptures of fallen heroes and dead matrons were strategically placed all around the perimeter of the room.

Dinin carefully placed her down by the small pool and stated in a slightly terse tone "You owe me."

"I know." She sighed "Thank you for escorting me."

Dinin nodded and bowed low before exiting the chambers.

Vierna gingerly kneeled by the small pool and with a few command words and gestures a flow of warm, scented water started filling the pool. Vierna started undressing, wincing whenever she put too much pressure on one of her new bruises or cuts.

Like most high priestesses, Vierna's robes had a stylized spider design and were very reveling, showing off her upper back, abdomen, and cleavage to onlookers. Her robes also sported half a dozen secret pockets filled with small throwing knives and daylight pellets. She carefully folded the robe, noticing that the silk was torn in most places and blood stains covered almost every inch of the gossamer fabric.

"I needed a new robe anyway." She said, setting the robe down and removing her knee-high boots. The boots were made of soft but sturdy rothe leather that was dyed black and they were both stylish and comfortable to walk or fight in.

The water reached the edge of pool and stopped flowing, a little wisp of steam coming off it. Vierna took off her remaining clothes and stacked them neatly next to her robe.

Vierna undid her signature braids, letting her hair fall around her head and into her eyes. She gently eased herself into the warm bath, groaning when her bruises started stinging from the heat. The stinging soon faded away into a relaxing tingle.

Now submerged up to her neck in warm water; Vierna closed her eyes and leaned her head back into the water, and enjoyed the feeling of her hair flowing about. To a passing drow, she looked shockingly like Matron Malice, with only a few differences distinguishing the two. Vierna had inherited her small stature and soft facial features from her mother, giving her a much more gentle appearance then Briza's trademark scowl.

For the next hour Vierna just floated idly in the pool, letting the (now-tepid) water sooth her aches and relax her flayed nerves

Her peaceful bath was disturbed however, by a little trickle of blood running from her nose. Vierna sat up in the water, the blood trickle reminding her why she had to be carried to the bathing chambers.

_Two hours ago_

_"What did you say?" Malice asked quietly, visibly shaking with fury._

_Vierna quickly covered her head with her arms. _

_This was going to hurt…a lot. _

_It did._

_Malice's whip struck her forearms, fangs sinking into her soft flesh and tearing skin with shocking ease. Vierna cried out in pain, hugging her bleeding arms tightly to her body. Malice quickly grabbed the opportunity and lashed out again with her five-headed snake whip. With her arms no longer protecting her face, Vierna shut her eyes tightly when the snakes' fangs stabbed into her neck and chest. Vierna groaned as the venom burned its way through her veins, causing her muscles to tear and stretch beyond their limits. _

_"This will teach you to bring failure to my house!" Malice shrieked, raising her whip to strike again. _

_The next blow knocked Vierna off her feet, and instead of trying to get back up, she curled up on the floor and covered her face with her hands, trying to protect her face from the dreadful whip._

_Malice didn't care; she had plenty of other targets. The whip struck Vierna again and again, ripping open savage but still shallow wounds along Vierna's back and sides. Vierna screamed, throwing all her agony and panic into the action as the snakes bit into already torn flesh and started to twist off small mouthfuls of her with rapid, brutal jerks of their heads. _

_"That's right! Scream!" Malice taunted "Scream as I tear you apart, you worthless, stupid child!"_

_Terrified, Vierna screamed louder, her voice reaching a higher octave as Malice continued to rain down blows on her. _

_Dinin stood gaping at the horrible image. He had never seen the matron react this harshly toward another priestess, and now hearing his sister's screams finally break off into sobs and whimpers, with not even enough strength left to even beg, he was sure that Malice meant to actually butcher Vierna!_

_Vierna started to lose feeling in her abused body, her arms falling away from her face and her throat refused create any more sounds except for a dry rasping noise. Her instincts begged her to remain awake, to resist the beckoning black tide of exhaustion and numbness. But she had no more strength left and surrendered to the merciful abyss. _

_Even when Vierna stopped moving Malice continued on for another minute before finally deciding to stop. She examined Vierna's still form for a moment and then walked back to her throne of iron. _

_"Dinin, check to see if she still lives." She ordered from atop her throne. _

_Dinin, not wanting anger his insane matron, ran toward Vierna's body. He did a double-take when he saw the amount damage Malice had done. Her clothes were in tatters, with only a few bloodstained silk rags remaining on her body. Vierna's shoulder and hip was stripped of skin and muscle, with some of her bones protruding from her shredded body. Her arms and legs were no better, with a few completely severed muscles hanging off her limbs. Dinin carefully stepped around the spreading blood pool and placed his hand on her neck, looking for a pulse. _

_He felt a cool wave of relief when he felt a pulse. It was weak, almost nonexistent, but it was there. _

_"I feel her heart!" He declared. "She still lives!"_

_Malice nodded, before turning back toward her other daughters. "You may leave."_

_Briza and Maya bowed hastily and almost ran for the doors, neither of them wanted to be near the matron for any longer than necessary. _

_Malice again walked down to examine her daughter's bleeding form. Dinin respectfully kept his distance from the matron and Vierna. Malice closed her eyes and started chanting the required prayers, her hands clasped together in front of her heart. _

_"__Lil z'ress de'lolth o'gothe!__" she yelled, thrusting her arms into the air._

_Dinin watched in wonder as Vierna's savage wounds started to heal. Muscle re-connected to bone as sinews and arteries spliced together again. Dinin felt a little ill when Vierna's skin started to spread, covering her flesh with a new coating of obsidian skin. Vierna's breathing became stronger and when Dinin kneeled down again to feel her neck, his fingers easily detected a slow but steady pulse. _

_"She will live." Dinin reported, looking up at his matron. _

_"Good, she still may serve a purpose." Matron Malice sneered and nonchalantly left the throne-room._

_Dinin sat down next to his unconscious sister and waited for her to wake up. She was still weak from blood loss and would probably need help with getting back to her own chambers. Dinin had been trained to never let an opportunity go to waste, and if he did show her such kindness, she would have to repay it latter. He had noticed that her room was full of enchanted items…_

_Dinin crossed his legs in front of him and leaned back heavily onto his hands, making himself as comfortable as possible on the cold marble floor._

_This was going to take a while._

Vierna shuddered from the memory. Make no mistake she had received whippings before, but none of her past beatings even began to rival that one.

Feeling a little bit better from the bath, Vierna pulled herself out of the water and dried herself off with a cotton towel imported from the surface. After she was only slightly damp she found a bathing gown (Nothing more than a thin sheet of fabric that barely managed to reach to her knees) and put it on before collecting her boots and other salvageable clothes in her hands and left the chambers. She walked barefoot back to her room, hoping for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

* * *

"Aha! Don't you see sister, he is wearing a disguise!" Tonash declared, his steel-clad finger pointing accusingly at the scrying bowl. "He is up to no fucking good, I can feel it!"

Charjess, elder daughter of house Barrindar and talented high priestess, stared down at the image of her youngest brother. Or rather, an arachnomancer that resembled her brother, walking down a crowded street away from House Barrindar.

"Revered Charjess, we need crush this threat right now!" Tonash pressed on, slamming his fist on a nearby table. "If we don't act soon he will fucking discover us!"

"Patience, dear brother." She said, leaving the scrying bowl and gracefully settling her small frame onto a leather chair. "He knows nothing about our plans."

Tonash started pacing back and forth angrily, kicking at any stray piece of furniture that got in his way. Charjess followed his pacing with her eyes, watching as her brother be almost overwhelmed with worry. How amusing, she thought, that the strongest warrior in the district was terrified of his little brother. Tonash however, noticed that his sister was watching him, her eyes twinkling in amusement, and that just made him more worried.

"Why the fuck are you staring at me for?!" He demanded, fist clenched at his side.

Charjess blinked a few times, painting an innocent expression on her face and tucking a loose bit of hair behind her pierced ear before answering in uncharacteristically sweet voice "I just find the fact that you are terrified of your brother extremely amusing." She said with a smile.

The effect the words had on him was astounding. In the blink of an eye Tonash's face became bright white to her heat-seeing eyes. The warrior looked like he was going to explode and Charjess wondered if maybe she had pushed him too far. But no, instead of trying to brutally maim her, like she expected, he slammed his armored fist into the table, causing the sturdy, fashionable, and rather expensive piece of furniture to disintegrate into splinters.

"I AM NOT FUCKING SCARED OF HIM!" He roared.

"Then why do you not end this threat?" She asked, smile widening into a predatory grin. Oh how she loved toying with her volatile brother's emotions! "Surely a weapons master of your experience would have no trouble dispatching a glorified errand boy."

Tonash gave her another hard glare. "I could slaughter him in any fight, in any scenario." He snarled angrily "But the matron favors him, if I killed him the matron would sacrifice me to the weaver of webs."

Charjess stood up, walked back to the bowl, and started drawing little circles in the water, causing Ran'drin's image to distort and waiver. "Well in that case maybe you should hire an assassin." She pointed out.

Tonash shook his head. "I tried that sister, but Bregan D'aerthe refuses to accept the contract."

Charjess stopped playing with the water and gave her brother a skeptical look. "I think you probably were a bit too forceful with them." She scoffed "I'll send them an offer."

Tonash was about to continue the argument, but Charjess silenced him with a raised hand. "Have faith in me, brother." She chuckled. "Soon our cherished brother will truly be one with his beloved shadows."

**Sorry for just uploading two edits but chapter 4 was no where near completed. I am working on it however and I got 2 pages so far. It should be up in about 2 weeks. Knock on wood.**

**Once again please review and if you like go ahead and give it a fav or a follow it would really motivate me a lot. Thanks! **


	4. First Impressions

Jarlaxle's hands were a blur as he tore through his desk cabinets, looking for some papers he had stuffed in there earlier.

'Now where in the abyss did I put those shipping manifests?' He thought. He was getting worried now, Matron Baenre had already paid for them and Jarlaxle hated giving out refunds. He wasn't even sure if the old hag would even accept a refund; she'd probably just throw him across the room with her spells and turn him into newt or something.

Jarlaxle's head shot up when a young male, wearing a Bregan D'aerthe uniform that seemed too big for him, burst through the office's only door. The youth quickly snapped a salute and then immediately started jabbering excitedly.

"Jarlaxle sir, There is a priestess outside your office; she says she needs to see you right now. I told her she wasn't allowed in but she just hit me and repeated that she needs to ta-"

"Soldier…"

"-alk to you right now, like RIGHT now, she even offered me a bag of gold but I didn't take it, because I remembered that bribes hurt the band-"

"Soldier!"

"And that we only supposed to take bribes from merchants trying to sell drugs to poor people and-"

"SOLDIER!"

The youth closed his mouth a snap and dropped his gaze to his feet, cheeks bright with embarrassment.

Jarlaxle looked at him with amusement before asking: "What's your name, soldier?"

The youth gave a stiff bow and stated "Jin'Rae sir, but most of my squad calls me Jin, I don't know why though but it's better nickname than 'chatterbox' which is what my sergeant calls me and I guess he has a right to after all 'cause he's the serge-"

"Shut up, Jin."

"Sorry."

Jarlaxle adjusted his hat slightly before looking back up. "Go send her away." He said "Whoever it is, I am not taking clients today."

* * *

Jin bowed again and then walked down the hallway to the waiting room. 'Well that could have gone better, why did you have to go mouthing off for Jin?' He thought 'He probably thinks you are a grade-A, solid-gold moron with a bowl of pasta for brains.'

He walked into waiting-room (which he was supposed to be standing guard in) with his hands in his pockets and his head bowed, wanting nothing more than to sit behind the couch and sulk.

"So, may I talk to him now?" A soft, sweet voice dragged him out of his thoughts.

The priestess was standing in front of him, hands on her hips and head tilted in the universal symbol of female displeasure. Jin spent a moment just staring at her. She was small, almost tiny, standing only about four and a half feet even in heels. Her deep purple dress showed off her perfect hourglass figure and flawless ebony skin. Her hair fell around her head and shoulders like a wave a newly spun silk and any strand that crossed her angular face was gracefully tucked behind her heavily pierced ears.

"Um…s-sorry but c-can you repeat the…um…question?" He asked, fully aware of how much of an idiot he must sound like.

The drowess twirled a lock of her hair on her finger, giving Jin an appraising look, before inquiring in a melodic tone. "Will Jarlaxle see me now?"

Jin shook his head slightly "No, I'm sorry but he is not seeing anybody today." He replied "He is very...um…busy today."

The drowess pouted "Are you sure?" she asked, taking a step closer to Jin.

Jin gulped nervously, he didn't want to get slapped again, and nodded.

She took another step closer to him and shifted her weight slightly to give Jin a better view of her cleavage. "How long have you been in his employ, Soldier?" She asked, placing her gloved hand upon his chest.

"Uh…..This is m-my first week." He stuttered, fighting to keep eye contact with her. He was, in fact, failing miserably. His eyes kept dropping down and it was painfully obvious that he was very, VERY off-guard.

Faster than a striking spider her hand shot up and grabbed his collar, she tugged him closer and drew a three-headed snake whip with her free hand before Jin could even go for his sword. Her smile was gone, replaced with a cold sneer.

"Bring me to him. NOW!" she snarled, letting the snakeheads slither across the youth's face and hair.

Jin knew better than to struggle, but orders were orders and if she didn't kill him Jarlaxle certainly would. "H-he ordered me, n-not to let anyone in!" He protested meekly.

"Oh? So males now outrank females?" She asked sarcastically, voice bored and flat "I'll be sure to inform the matrons."

Her whip wrapped around the male's neck and started to squeeze. Jin's eyes widened in surprise as his lungs started burning for air. His hands latched onto the whip and started prying away its horrible grip but the snake heads simply snapped at his fingers, making his hands too numb to function.

The priestess watched with morbid interest as the male started flailing and conversing, his mouth agape and eyes rolling back in his head. His protests fell away into coughs and wheezes, until finally; he gave out one final gasp and fainted. The drowess gave a satisfied chuckle and dropped the unconscious youth onto the floor.

"Relax, I'll find him myself." She smirked at her little joke and then strode down the hallway the youth had appeared from.

* * *

Jarlaxle sagged back in his chair in relief. He had found the shipping manifest tucked away safely beneath a formula for instant hair-growth and next to a bottle of what looked like troll mucus. Needless to say Jarlaxle was either going to have to start training himself to be organized or use a compass to find his desk.

Jarlaxle carefully rolled up the papers and placed them gently into a scroll case for safe keeping. Then he shoved the case into his hat and uncorked a bottle of fungal wine.

'I still have a few hours before the meeting.' He thought 'A glass can't hurt can it?'

He had just poured himself some wine when there was a gentle knock on his door.

"Damn it, Jin!" he yelled "I told you I didn't want to be disturbed!"

The door's knob creaked and door was pushed open by a slender gloved hand. "Greetings, Jarlaxle of Bregan D'aerthe, I wish to speak with you." The drowess announced from the doorway.

Jarlaxle loosened his throwing knives in his bracer and watched suspiciously as the drowess cat-walked to his desk.

"Where is my soldier?" Jarlaxle asked.

The drowess sat down on the edge of his desk and brushed some hair out of her eyes with an exaggerated flick of her hand. "Oh him?" She gave Jarlaxle another smile. "I let him have the night off, he did look sooo tired."

The smile kept Jarlaxle on edge; a smiling female was a dangerous female. He did however felt a sharp stab of annoyance. No one beat up his soldiers except for him! What gave her the right to punish anybody?

'Because we worship a giant sexist spider' he reminded himself.

Jarlaxle bit back his annoyance and smiled his most winning smile "May I ask for your name, mistress?" He asked, using the honorific that his sisters liked so much.

The drowess placed a hand over her chest and crossed her shapely legs in front of her, "I am Charjess Barrindar, First-daughter of House Barrindar." She announced with a regal gesture of her free hand.

"Ah! One of the Barrindar twins!" Jarlaxle pointed out, trying to swing the conversation in his favor. "Your brother speaks of you often."

Charjess's smile faltered for a moment at the mention of her brother. "The angry one or the weak one?" she asked.

"The young one." Jarlaxle answered with a grin, "You know, the one with the knives, dice tattoos, and hair that looks like it was washed with white mud. Ring a bell?"

Charjess nodded slowly while she tried to re-formulate her plan. She had never expected her youngest brother to be known to THE Jarlaxle. 'Maybe Ran'drin owes him money.' She thought hopefully.

Jarlaxle, seeing hesitation in her posture, continued on, "I know Ran'drin very well." He said, "We often attend the races together; your brother has quite an eye for opportunities."

Now Charjess knew why Bregan D'aerthe refused any contracts on Ran'drin's life. It appeared that she had underestimated her little brother. But her plan was still a sound one; she just had to go a bit higher that's all.

"Well, this request will be unpleasant for you then." She whispered, just loudly enough for the mercenary to hear.

Jarlaxle laughed his high-pitched laugh "You want me to put a price on my friend's life?" He asked loudly "I believe your angry brother already tried to do the same."

"What did he offer?" She retorted, bringing her legs under herself and leaning forward to reveal some more of her bosom.

It did not work as well as she had hoped, Jarlaxle just glanced down once and then slyly looked back up before replying "A few gems, a pound of powdered gold, and an enchanted…tea pot, I believe."

Charjess pinched the bridge of her nose. She vowed that she would teach Tonash how to bargain when she got back.

She waved her hand dismissively, "Tonash is a fool who spends too much time doing push-ups in the training gym." She spat venomously, and then switched back to her soft voice "I can offer you four pounds of pure, expertly cut diamonds and a ring of _polymorph_, plus a little something extra."

Jarlaxle's greedy mind could already imagine diamonds sparkling in the half-light, and another ring wouldn't be too bad either. Jarlaxle knew Ran'drin was a devious and brutal fighter and he was more than sure that Ran'drin could kill off a few assassins. And four pounds of diamonds was a very generous offer already.

"What do you mean by _a little something extra_?" He asked.

Charjess's smile grew as she practically pulled herself off the table and settled herself comfortably onto the mercenary's lap, one leg on each side of him and her generous bust mere inches away from his wide eye. She ran one hand though her smooth white veil of hair as her other hand started undoing the lace holding her dress together.

"What do you want it to mean?" She whispered into his ear.

* * *

"Oh, damn it to hell…" Ran'drin swore as he walked past the same statue for the third time.

Ran'drin was lost. Well, technically he wasn't really lost. He knew where he was, he was in House Do'Urden's compound and somewhere near the laundry room. But he didn't have the faintest clue on where the war room was.

He had spent the past two hours mapping out the main compound, and he was pretty sure that he had done most of it. He had been to the feast hall, the chapel, the barracks, the guardhouse, the kitchens, the wizard's tower (More like the wizard's pile of rocks, he thought), and even the slave warrens but he still couldn't find the damned war room. That was his main target; all the papers, maps, and secret codes were in that room, which should have been near the training gym. But obviously the fucking room was nowhere near the gym because he had already searched and re-searched every square inch of the gym.

'Maybe there's a secret entrance or something' He reasoned.

He hoped that wasn't the case, he really did not want to search the entire compound from top to bottom.

Again.

Ran'drin adjusted the hood of his robes a little, making sure to look as ominous as possible. It had been a good idea to dress as an arachnomancer, the disguise made other drow fear him and recoil from his path. Arachnomancers were given a wide berth by most drow, as they considered favored by Lolth and had a reputation for being cruel and unpredictable. Most of them were insane, their minds ravaged by their "studies" and their fascination with spiders. Hell, there were even rumors of Arachnomancers transforming themselves into driders, just to feel a little bit more kinship toward their eight-legged friends.

He kept moving down the corridor, sometimes in the shadows and other times swaggering down the hall as if he was Lolth's personal avatar. He did not meet much people in the halls, and those he did meet took one look at him and then hurriedly walked the other way.

Slaves squealed and cowered in terror as he barged though the laundry room door. After he let his eyes adjust to the candle light within the room he saw that they were mostly humans, with a few deep gnomes and gray dwarfs manning the washing stations. His lips curled into a sneer of utter contempt, Ran'drin shoved a shaking human woman out of his way and started examining the walls for secret levers or buttons.

For an hour he slowly stalked down each wall, checking every crevice and every hole, and tapping on the walls to see if they were hollow. He even tried to twist the candle holders to the side, hoping that they activated a triggering mechanism.

His search turned up nothing. Again.

Ran'drin, tired and frustrated, directed his anger on the first living thing that crossed his path.

A small girl cried out when the back of his hand slammed into her cheek. The girl, already overbalanced from the basket she was holding, was thrown to the floor from the force of the blow. With a diabolical growl Ran'drin reached down and snatched the girl up by the front of her tunic and shook the terrified human child; the rest of the slaves just watched, too broken and intimidated to protect the girl.

The drow paused his shaking, and glared daggers at the unfortunate girl. She was no older then fifteen or sixteen, and Ran'drin could see that she was reasonably healthy even though she must have weighed only about ninety pounds in all. She was clad in rags and, like the other slaves; she did not have any shoes.

The girl was sobbing now, convinced that her captor was ready and willing to kill her and was just waiting for her to move before striking, just like the spiders she watched while she worked did. She kept her head bowed and her hands by her sides, trying to be as still as possible as tears streamed down from her eyes.

Ran'drin drew a knife from his cuff and held it up before the girl's wide eyes. He played with the blade for a moment; letting the light of the candles bounce of the polished adamantine. He was about to bring the knife down into her but then the girl managed to squeak out: "No! Please don't!"

Ran'drin was taken back. Most slaves did not know how to speak drow and those that did could only recognize a few commands. The fact that this human just spoke to him in drow, meant that she had been born in the underdark and therefore had experienced nothing but cruelty and servitude since she was born.

Ran'drin hesitated internally, debating whether or not to kill her. Slaves were expendable and she was only a child and therefore not a great loss toward the workforce, in fact he doubted that her overseer would even notice her death. On the other hand she was just a child and her only crime was being in the right place at the wrong time. Maybe he could spare her? No, he had been taught all his life that mercy was a weakness, and Ran'drin definitely did not consider himself weak. But then an idea struck him.

"How long have you served this house, slave?" He demanded, shaking the girl again.

"All my life, Master!" She cried out. "Please don't hurt me!" Ran'drin slapped her.

"Be silent unless I tell you to speak, filth." He ordered. "Now, do you know of any secret passages or switches in the training gym?"

The girl shaking became worse. "N...N-o I d-don't." She hiccupped.

"Then you are of no use to me." He replied coldly and drew his hand back, ready to strike.

"Wait! Wait! I k-Know a secret way!" She begged. "It's not in the gym though."

He spun the knife back into its sheathe and slapped the girl once for good measure before dropping her. She fell heavily onto the flagstones and froze, hardly able to believe her good fortune. Ran'drin scowled, "Show me, wretch."

The other slaves watched him with wide eyes, expecting him to turn around and transform them into slugs or something equally unpleasant. Drow were never ones to show mercy to a slave, and the fact that this one just did, and to a child too, made him much more terrifying.

The slave girl picked herself up off the ground and pointed to the corner where the rest of the slaves were huddled. "It's behind them, let me show you, Master!" she said and then rushed toward the corner. Ran'drin followed and made the slaves move with a glare; they had all heard about the atrocities that arachnomancers routinely committed and now that one was approaching them they quickly took shelter behind baskets of laundry.

The girl ran up to the wall and started to push on the stone in what seemed like random points. Ran'drin watched her carefully, searching for a pattern in her motions. After a few seconds a little section of the wall was pulled back, exposing a metallic glint.

The glint of metal turned out to be a small circler hatch in the wall. It was small, only about three feet in diameter, and sported a simple latch. Ran'drin unlatched it and curiously poked his hooded head into the opening. The hatch lead to a small tunnel that went upward at a sharp seventy-five degree angle. The sides of the tunnel were smooth and slick when Ran'drin ran his hand around the edge. It must be a laundry chute, but why did it go up so steeply?

Ran'drin's heart began beating excitedly, as the answer to his problem was revealed to him.

"Oh, what a fool I am!" He laughed to himself, making the watching slaves jump. Then he turned to the girl and said with a positively wolf-like grin: "You served me well, you may go but if I find out you told anybody about me, I will find you and change your innards into hungry spiders!"

The girl nodded fearfully, then sprinted back toward the group of slaves.

Then Ran'drin immediately stated rummaging around in his pockets for a tool that could help climb up the tunnel, while his mind quickly began making a new infiltration plan. His target was definitely in the noble section (he would have to talk to Jarlaxle about the inaccurate information) and he now had a way to get there without levitating. His original plan was to steal some papers first then levitate up there and map it when the nobles went to bed… a pretty shitty plan but still better than knocking on the Matron's door and asking her if he could borrow her documents.

'Aha, found it!' He thought, 'My wand of _spider climb_.' He quickly activated the magical stick and started squeezing himself into the hole. It was too small for him to use his arms or legs much so he had to depend on wiggling his body up the tunnel. Ran'drin was suddenly thankful for all the sit-ups Tonash made him do last week.

A minute later Ran'drin had successfully wormed his way up the noble laundry chute. He was standing in the middle of a huge hallway with one end opening up to a balcony and the outside world while the other one came to a huge set of adamantine doors. Smaller doors were evenly spaced along both sides of the hall.

'Bed chambers probably,' Ran'drin guessed 'I'll need to avoid those.'

Ran'drin dropped into a stealthy crouch and moved closer to the right wall, keeping to the heat "shadows" expertly as he moved down the corridor closer toward the huge doors. He stopped by every door and listened, trying to tell if the room was occupied or not. The first door was silent and when Ran'drin looked inside he saw that it was a bedroom. And judging from the extravagant and expensive furniture it was probably one of the noble daughters room.

A loud snoring sound came from the second door he checked and Ran'drin concluded that it was probably the last noble son sleeping in there.

'Damn he is loud,' Ran'drin thought, thoroughly amused. 'No wonder the secondboy left!'

Pulling himself away from the funny snores and snorts coming from the door, he continued to creep down the hallway. He stopped again to examine a painting hanging of the wall, the painting showing a drow priestess sacrificing a male drow to Lolth. He didn't know too much about art but he shook the painting anyway in case it had money inside it.

"Damn." He whispered to himself, and kept going.

Ran'drin had barley put his ear to the third door when he heard a moan from inside. Pressing himself against the door he listened carefully, hoping that the moan was some injured noble and not some undead abomination made to hunt down trespassers. But no sound came from the door, so Ran'drin kept going.

Finally he came to the huge and ornate doors of what probably was the chapel antechamber and throne room. Ran'drin opened the door a little and moved his eye next to the crack he created, searching for any living soul in the chamber.

He found one.

In the middle of the throne room, back to the door, a soldier was busy scrubbing something off the floor. Ran'drin quietly pushed the door open a little more and squeezed his thin body through it. The soldier did not notice his silent approach and continued to scrub furiously while curse after curse flowed from his lips. Ran'drin crouched behind him, close enough to touch him, and listened to the soldier's grumbling.

"Clean the floor she said! You need to learn humility she said!" He parroted, "Stupid bitch, she should get some fuckin' humility and learn how to not be so damn vain! Nose so high in the air that bats use it roost!"

Ran'drin flicked his wrist again and the knife dropped from his sleeve into his waiting hand but he didn't strike yet, he decided to listen for a few more moments just in case.

The soldier threw his brush away in disgust and declared, "I am a captain of House Do'Urden! I shouldn't be cleaning the chapel like some mere servant! I should be dir-AACK!"

His sentence was cut off as Ran'drin shoved him to the ground and then jumped on top of him and slammed his face into the marble floor, covering the newly cleaned floors with blood. The soldier tried to draw his mace but Ran'drin's hand quickly removed the weapon and threw it away from them. Ran'drin pressed his knee into the other drow's kidney area and placed the knife against his prisoner's throat.

"Yell and I kill you." He warned. The soldier simply nodded, blood streaming down his face and pooling onto the floor.

"The war room." Ran'drin demanded, "Where is it?"

"Fuck you!"

"Fine, be that way." Ran'drin's knife began to cut deeper.

"Wait! Wait!" The prisoner squealed. Ran'drin stayed his hand.

"The war room is in the weapon master's quarters. The third door from the left." The drow confessed, "Now let me go, I will not raise the alarm. I swear it!"

"I believe you. But what can you offer me?"

The drow relaxed, thinking that the fool was going to spare him, but his reply was cut short as the knife was thrust into his neck. The drow's eyes widened as Ran'drin twisted the knife, making bright crimson blood spurt out.

Ran'drin jerked his dagger out and looked down at the rapidly expiring soldier. "Now how did that saying go? Ah, yes." He said with a morbid grin, "Dead men tell no tales."

Half an hour later, Ran'drin left the war room with an exited smile and his bag filled to the brim with documents ranging from battle plans to written journal entries from the former weapon-master, Zaknafein. The entries did not have any tactical value but Ran'drin could probably sell them back to Matron Malice for a tidy profit. The journal pages documented the weapon-master's days within the compound and his nights in Malice's bed, and they were written using…graphic language.

Ran'drin made his way back to the great hall by jumping from shadow to shadow, spending only seconds in the open and making no sound when he moved. When he finally slipped through the door to the great hall, he was twitching with excitement.

'Only a little bit left and I'm home free!' He reminded himself gleefully as he walked to the chute.

Ran'drin was about to enter the laundry chute when he heard footsteps coming from one of the doors. He knew he didn't have enough time to shove himself into the cramped chute, and he didn't want to be discovered trespassing with a sackful of secret documents AND halfway down a tunnel.

Thinking quickly, he leapt toward the door on his left and twisted its handle. To his overwhelming relief, the handle clicked and the door swung back into the room. Ran'drin threw himself inside and pushed the door shut in one smooth motion. The door closed with a hushed 'click' at the exact moment the footsteps entered the main hall.

Ran'drin placed his pointed ear to the door, listening intently. He heard the footsteps coming closer but something was off about them. The footsteps did not make a uniform sound like most boots do, they were irregular and made small, wet slapping sounds. Ran'drin could tell that the person was female, judging from the pause in between steps.

'A female, a very small female. And barefoot, too.' He concluded, shifting his body slightly against the door. 'Probably one of the noble daughters, coming back from the bathing chambers.'

He sank down to the floor, letting out a sigh of relief. He was safe in this room, of that he had little doubt. All he had to do now was wait a little bit and then make his way back to Jarlaxle to collect his reward. Ran'drin's eyes twinkled with their characteristic greed. He could almost see the shining rubies, wrapped up in a simple leather pack, ready to fuel a night of gambling. And the safe house! No more living in that little, cramped room. No more long nights with insomnia. No more chasing away spiders from his closet. Yes, soon his life would change for the better.

That pleasant thought was stolen from by the sound of the door opening.

* * *

Vierna twisted the handle gently, looking forward to a few peaceful hours of sleep in her warm, soft bed. She had walked back to her chambers silently, avoiding any servant or guard she saw. She knew every one of them would have offered to escort her to her chambers and a few of the guards would have probably offered her a "relaxing massage to release tension". Normally she would have taken one of them up on his offer but she was just too sore and tried after the beating and subsequent healing to even entertain such thoughts. All she wanted to do now, is relax.

She pushed the door open.

And was promptly grabbed and slammed into the wall, dropping the clothes she carried all over the floor. She yelped as pain shot though her already-abused body, her eyes shut tightly on reflex. She felt pressure on her mouth and one of her hands was roughly forced upward. She opened her eyes and jumped from surprise when she saw that her attacker was only a few inches away. She started to struggle when her other hand was also thrust up. He had her pinned to the wall, one hand holding down both of hers above her head, while his other hand was pressed tightly over her lips, silencing her protests. His bright crimson eyes bore into her own. Her struggles died away.

"Be quiet or die." He whispered to her, voice tight with annoyance.

She nodded hastily, unable to tear her attention from his gaze. Thankfully he looked away and started examining her body with a smirk. She followed his gaze down and blushed furiously when she noticed that her bathing robe had slipped during the brief struggle. She pressed her body against the wall, trying to put as much distance as she could between them. He noticed this slight movement and to her surprise he removed his hand from her mouth and pulled her robe back into its proper position.

She opened her mouth to ask "Why?" but her mouth was immediately covered by his hand.

"I said no talking." He stated. She glared at him, anger replacing her fear. She stated struggling again, twisting her body and arms. He growled in annoyance and leaned forward, pinning her to the wall with his body.

"Stop that." He ordered icily. In response Vierna thrashed harder, redoubling her efforts to escape.

* * *

Ran'drin pressed down harder, trying to make her stop. His patience, already on the breaking point from excitement and frustration, snapped and he suddenly released his hold on her hands and mouth. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and tugged upward, forcing her onto the tips of her toes and bringing hints of tears into her surprised eyes. His other hand produced a thin knife from his robes.

"Now let's try this again." He suggested, twirling the knife around in his fingers. "Now stop fighting!"

The drowess latched onto the front of his robes, trying to keep him from moving his hand, which was still entangled with her hair. If only he could bind her, then he would have no trouble getting away.

Still she continued to fight him and Ran'drin became aware of the feeling of her squirming against him. A rather erotic image popped into Ran'drin's head and Ran'drin felt his body tense up.

'Light take you, Ran'drin.' He thought, mentally slapping himself. 'This not the time or the place for some fun.'

"Release me, male!" The drowess ordered, trying to push him away. "Do you know what I could do to you?!"

"Yes, I am very aware of what you could do to me." He answered without even a trace of sarcasm. "But right now I just want you to kneel and put your hands behind you back." She stopped struggling and raked him with a rather intimidating glare.

"Oh? Is that all? Or do you want me to perform a sexy dance while I'm down there too?!" She snarled.

Ran'drin was taken aback by her sharp words, then shrugged and rested the blade of his knife on her collarbone. Her eyes widened but she kept her hands on his robes. He stepped back a little, giving them both a little breathing room.

A few moments of silence followed as Ran'drin examined his captive's conditions. She was definitely one of the most beautiful drowesses he had seen and she carried herself easily, her chin lifted up and her lips were pressed into a thin line of displeasure. She was still young, only about a hundred or so and was definitely a high priestess judging from the tattered robe that was lying forgotten on the floor. Ran'drin's eyes traveled up the length of her body, taking in every bruise and every recently healed cut, what had happened to her?

'Either she angered someone important or she's a masochist.' Ran'drin thought, giggling a little at the thought.

She made an indignant noise, probably offended by his accidently giggle. He looked up, hoping to get in a few jokes on her expense, but his mouth fell open when he noticed her eyes for the first time.

He had never seen any like hers before and before he could stop himself, he disentangled his hand from her hair and clasped her chin roughly, forcing her to make eye contact with him. He stared deeply into her eyes, they were so perfect they took his breath away. They were a deep and vibrant shade of red, with little streaks of crimson crisscrossing like little spider webs.

No, not webs.

"Rubies." He breathed, in a dazed voice.

He kept staring at them, no longer seeing a pair of eyes but instead two lovely, shining gems. Two breath-taking rubies that put all other gems in the world to shame. Ran'drin felt a strange impulse fall over him. He felt like the floor had been stripped away from him, like he was falling. He wanted her more than he ever wanted anything else in his life, but he was powerless to do anything about it. He had never felt like that before and it frightened him. He just stood there, staring. His mind raced to find a name for the emotion that now consumed him, this emotion that could only be described as a burning desire. Lust? Greed? He hoped it was one of those two, he knew how to deal with them.

But this greed, if it was greed, was like nothing he ever experienced before.

* * *

Vierna did not know what to do. When he had jerked her head up, she had been angry but then she saw the emotion in his eyes. At first they were full of surprise but then they suddenly changed into something much more primal: Greed. She was surprised at first but when she noticed how natural the emotion was to his eyes, it was the final nail in the coffin for her. She was sure she was doomed, the straight, unrestricted greed was plainly written in his posture and expression, and even his breath stunk of molten gold to her.

She dug her nails into his chest, hoping to make him break eye contact with her, but he didn't seem to feel it. He simply just pressed himself closer to her, again pushing her up against the wall. She tried to bow her head, and immediately his hand forced her back to his heated stare again.

'What is he doing?' She thought, confused and on edge from this strange drow's behavior. 'Why is he staring at me like that?'

She jerked her chin away from his calloused hand and pushed him away, no longer caring about the knife near her throat. She needed to push this situation to her advantage before this escalated to something neither of them would be able to control. She looked down again, still trying to escape his piercing stare, and saw an opportunity to escape.

She kicked her knee up into his groin, smiling in triumph as his eyes widened in agony. He dropped his knife and finally looked away from her.

* * *

Ran'drin fell to his knees, one hand on his damaged manhood, while his other hand was braced against the floor. He shook his head, clearing it of pain and other, more distracting thoughts. He stuck his hand into his robes, hoping to find a something he could use to escape. He had just warped his hand around a wand when he felt a weight fall on his shoulders. Unable to keep his balance he fell prone to the floor, while the weight settled onto his back uncomfortably.

"Get off of me!" He shouted, not caring if anyone else heard him. He wanted out, he needed to get away from her. He felt like he had left behind a piece of himself when he stopped staring into her eyes. He was scared, he did not like that feeling. He wanted to run away and hid under his bed. Damn the mission. And Damn Jarlaxle for tempting him into taking this mission!

No! What was he thinking? Just as quickly as the panic appeared it was smothered by decades of training and indoctrination.

The mission came first.

He growled and tried to push her off him but he stopped moving when she held his own knife to the back of his neck.

"Now listen to me carefully, male." She warned, pressing down on his hood. "Who do you work for and what is your mission?"

"Or what?" He asked, voice dark with sarcasm. "You're going to pull on my hair?"

"No, I'm going hand you over to the Matron, and she would have some fun with you." She ran her free hand down his side, "Even if you are a little skinny for her tastes."

"Says the priestess whose clothes fall off with the slightest shake." He teased back.

Ran'drin felt the blade cut into the skin of his neck. "Watch your tongue." The drowess declared, still perched on top of him. "Who do you work for?"

Ran'drin quickly said the first name that popped into his head. "I work for Baenre."

In response she slapped him. Hard. "Do not waste my time, Male."

"Okay, okay. I can't tell you who I work for but I'll give you a hint." He wiggled his free hand a little bit, trying to make the blood flow back into the sleeping limb.

"I suppose a hint's better than nothing." She reluctantly agreed.

"Glad you see it that way." Ran'drin's left arm was still pinned under his body but he held onto a wand of _webbing._ He just had to get his arm free. "Do you mind if I face you? I find it difficult to have a conversation without any eye contact."

"Get used to it, a male's place is on the floor or on the bed." She snapped, giving his neck another poke with the knife. "Now talk, before I lose my patience."

Ran'drin braced his hand against the floor and planted his foot on a piece of furniture.

'Here goes nothing, first the distraction…' He thought.

He threw a glance to the door and yelled, as if to an ally. "HELP ME!"

In the instant the drowess looked up he moved, throwing himself upward, trying to unseat her. His plan didn't work as expected, she simply rolled off him and then lashed out with the knife. Ran'drin rolled away from the slender blade and pulled out his wand but she was on him before he could say the command word. Her knife sliced in toward his stomach, forcing him to clench his stomach in and roll out of the way. She attacked again but this time Ran'drin rolled onto his belly and then jumped back onto his feet.

The two drow squared off, Ran'drin holding a wand and another knife in his hands while she confidently wielded his stolen blade. She attacked again with horizontal slash to his face that would have ended the fight if it had hit but Ran'drin easily blocked it with his own knife and immediately launched a counter attack, using controlled slices and cuts to keep her on the defensive.

* * *

Vierna knew she was out matched, she was exhausted while her attacker was still fresh. He was better armed than she was and he was actually dressed in something comfortable to fight in.

'Stupid bath robes!' she cursed.

She narrowly avoided his knife again, jerking herself out of the way and then reversing her momentum to direct her knife at his heart, which he parried a flick of his wrist. Knife fighting was different from any other style of fighting. Both combatants dodged, ducked, and twirled out of the way of harm, then started attacking again. They were able to get closer to their opponent thanks to the shortness of their blades, and graceful slashes and feints were replaced with brutal stabbing and short, jagged cuts.

Vierna had been trained by the greatest weapon-master in the history of Menzoberranzan but she still found herself narrowly avoiding his blade and desperately trying to parry a flurry of strikes that he easily sent her way. And to make matters worse, she could feel her body start to become numb from over exertion and her adrenaline started to fade. She hoped that someone; Dinin, Maya, or even Briza, would hear the shouts and come to investigate. Not likely however, since they would just assume that the screams were from a male "partner".

'Now or never.' She thought, and threw the knife straight at him hoping to buy herself a few seconds, so she could use a spell against him. Her plan failed miserably as he easily caught the dagger in mid-fight and pointed the wand in her direction.

"Shan!" He commanded and Vierna immediately felt heavy webs cover her entire body, wrapping around her arms, legs, head, and torso. Unable to keep her balance she collapsed to the floor and, unable to move or even speak, she could only watch as the male sheathed his weapons and kneeled down beside her. He looked down at her cocooned body for a moment then scooped her up bridal style, ignoring her muffled cruses. He walked back toward her bed and dumped her onto it. If looks could kill, then he would be died a thousand times over from the glare Vierna treated him with. He smirked at her and then suddenly leaned forward and whispered into her ear.

"Your robe slipped again."

And then he abruptly stood and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him softly.

Vierna spat out some of the web that had fallen over her mouth. He would be long gone before she could escape from the web and she really didn't want Matron Malice to find out about her failure to stop the intruder. No, it would be better if Vierna denied any knowledge of him.

That didn't mean that she would forget about him or the humiliation she had suffered because of him. She swore she would find him and when she did he would beg for her forgiveness on a crooked knee.

With a frustrated sigh, Vierna entertained herself with wickedly splendid fantasies involving the two of them and a box of knives. 'Bastard could have at least fixed my robe.' She thought bitterly.

**Long chapter this time! and look at that, I actually managed to write a fight scene without my brain flying out of my ears!**

**Thank you everybody who read, Favorited, followed, or reviewed this story so far!**

**The next chapter will be a little late, sorry but a bunch of 'Life stuff' popped up and I haven't been able to write for about a week now.**

**Extra big thank you to my former chemistry teacher, who edited the chapter and gave me some great advice.**

**Also I edited my first chapter slightly (I changed a sentience) the change is minor but it's effect will be profound!**

**Ok that's about everything, please leave a favorite or even better a review. Bye!**


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